


Boys don't, but Boys do

by minimumobsession



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Homophobia, M/M, rated mature because of the topic of sexual assault-not sexual content, there is a brief scene depicting rape-nothing explicit happens, this is a fic more about recovery than romance, this is a pretty heavy fic so i dont recommend it for younger readers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minimumobsession/pseuds/minimumobsession
Summary: What about the boys?





	Boys don't, but Boys do

**Author's Note:**

> hey i'm back with a fic that is totally different from my other fics  
> TW for rape/sexual assault and homophobia  
> this is really heavy and kinda dark(?) i don't know if that's the right word (i discuss it further at the end)  
> this is in no way romanticizing rape or anything surrounding that issue  
> i really wanted to write something similar to this, how rape with boys isn't seen as an issue  
> fun fact: eros is probs going to be on hiatus until summer... i have ap tests next week so yeah  
> i do have like an over 10k fic in my drafts i'm more into than eros (sorry)  
> (ps if i need to tag something else please tell me)

It wasn’t supposed to happen.

He had always heard about it, talked about it, read about it, but it was never supposed to happen. Those stories of fucked up boys taking advantage of those innocent girls plastered in his mind, making him want to never be the perpetrator, never the predator, never the one that innocent girls feared, but now he was in one of those stories.

But he wasn’t a fucked-up boy. Where was his story of the fucked-up girl?

Nowhere because boys don’t get raped.

Waking up to that acceptance letter to university known for having great idol alumni was the beginning of a dream come true. This was supposed to be the once in a lifetime opportunity that a rare few would ever achieve, becoming a singer that showed the world what this skinny Chinese boy had; not some hellish nightmare.

Boys don’t get raped.

He wasn’t the victim because he had an erection. His body reacted, but he was the victim. He was drunk, asking for it; he wasn’t a victim. Just a hot boy people were dying to get to know better.

Going to that party, dragged by his roommate who knew the host’s brother, was a mistake.

Warning bells should have rung when the girl with sleek hair, flashy jewelry, bright pink top, only four years older than him, slunk up next to him, manicured fingers already ‘checking out’ the goods. _Click_.

But he was a boy.

Boys don’t get raped.

Those flirtatious winks, laughs, smiles flung his way; his roommate thought he was lucky. A freshman already catching the eye of an upperclassman? The Gods are looking down upon him, except not really.

Fingers traveled lower and lower, catching onto his belt loop, tugging him so those breasts were shoved into him.

He couldn’t forget it; the throaty “Let’s get to know each other better, shall we?” Words echoing in his head, ringing through his mind as he tried to escape the cruel world at night.

Being as polite as possible, he replied, “Um, sorry, but I have to refuse.”

Those plump lips pouted and the girl walked away.

Heart beating, he thought he could slip out of this loud party now; not wanting anymore encounters.

A red solo cup was shoved into his chest. _Click_.

“At least drink, you’re in college now,” she purred, eyes sickly sweet, glinting with something dark. He should have refused; all the warning signs were going off, but he was a boy.

Boys don’t get raped.

His roommate elbowed him as he chatted to a basketball player, red solo cups in both of their hands. “Drink,” he said. “Stop being so uptight, Junhui.”

He gulped and downing the whole thing, wanting this party to be over with. His roommate laughed and clapped him on the back. “Atta boy, college rocks.”

He coughed a little and set the cup down, blinking heavily. The strong, bitter taste leaving a kick behind. He wobbled a little, throwing out an arm to steady himself on the wall; the music pounding vibrations through the wall.

“First time?” the girl asked after a minute or two, eyes still with that glint.

He nodded heavily, vision slowly blurring.

“Yeah, they made some strong stuff; a recipe from the states called Jungle Juice. Let me take you to get some fresh air.”

He couldn’t protest, his limbs felt weighed down as the girl slung his arm across her shoulders, leading him down the hall. He felt too drunk. People passed, doors passed, windows passed; they weren’t heading outside.

They stopped at one, a simple, white door with a silver handle; _click_ : another picture for the memory book. He should have stopped, pushed her off him.

But boys don’t get raped.

The room was dark, only the moonlight filtering through the window. _Click_. Another one for the memory book. Small hands planted themselves onto his chest and pushed.

He fell, but he didn’t do anything. Just waited until he crashed into the plush bed.

The girl crawled onto him, straddling his crotch, face right up to him.

“I was surprised when you said no,” she purred, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. “You're just so hot. How could you refuse someone so beautiful as me?”

He tried to say no, but lips wouldn't move.

Her lips were on his, tongue down his throat.

She sat back up, lipstick a bit smeared.

“For a second there, I thought you were gay,” she laughed. “You’re too hot be homo.”

“I’m bi,” he heard himself confess. Something he had kept hidden since high school ever since the realization hit that he was different.

‘No, no, no,” she cooed, fingers trailing down to his pants. “You’re just curious, baby. Guys like you don’t like dick, they like breasts like mine.”

 _Stop, please. I don’t want this._ All these thoughts were in his head, but he couldn’t speak.

He blinked, vision growing darker.

“Please,” he managed to whimper, hands trying to push her off. “Please stop.” She grabbed them, forcing them to grasp at her chest.

“Baby, there’s guys out there dying to be in your spot,” she said, scooting down further.

His head rolled back, breathing hard. There was a rattle of a buckle and everything went dark.

Boys don’t get raped.

* * *

 Morning came and his head pounded like a bitch. The bright light shone through the cracks of the curtains, making his head ache even more.

Panic flooded through his body. These weren’t his curtains or sheets or walls. His clothes were thrown all over the floor.

“That was a wild night.”

He turned to see the girl nude and covered by the sheets, hair a hot mess with a dark twinkle to her eyes.

His heart leapt and he stayed silent.

“People are going to be so jealous you banged someone at your first party, they were for me. Hit me up next time, I would go down on you again, could rival some of my exes,” she laughed slipping out of the bed. She threw on her clothes and winked at him as she left.

“My number is on the nightstand,” she purred and left with the door slamming.

Left in the silence of his beating heart; the slip of paper on the nightstand mocking him. He shakily sat up to collect his clothes. A button missing on his shirt and he felt dirty. A mirror laid across the room, reflection mocking him. Bruises marred his neck, chest, and thighs.

He felt filthy, used.

But boys can’t be raped.

* * *

“Yo dude, I heard what happened last night,” his roommate greeted him as he walked into the room. “Senior posted it on social media about you guys banging; you’re going to get all the hotties now.”

It was supposed to be a compliment, but to him, it felt like another dagger slicing him open, letting his pride, happiness, everything bleeding out until he was just a shell. He ignored it, grabbing a long sleeve shirt and jeans.

“Hey man, what’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re PMS-ing,” his roommate joked. “You fucked a senior, that’s every guy’s dream come true.”

He ignored his roommate, heading into the showers. The scalding hot water pounded into his skin and he scrubbed his skin raw.

_I want to be clean again._

No matter how long he stood there, the scratching, scrubbing, he felt dirty, rubbing away at those bruises left on his skin. Those bruises that were a physical reminder of the girl. How he was impure now, tarnishing the smooth skin. After a while and when his skin was all red, he slumped back, not even shrinking away from his naked skin on the cool tile wall.

The shower sprayed droplets into his eyelashes, but he didn’t care.

That girl took something of his that he was never getting back.

Boys don’t cry.

But this boy did. Tears mixing with droplets, skin rubbed red with shame, this boy cried.

But boys can't be raped. Boys don’t get raped. Boys aren’t raped.

But this boy did.

It was a nightmare he hated; the ones he only could imagine girls go through on a daily basis. Yet here he was, living that nightmare that boys shouldn’t have. The terror of lifeless limbs, watching as the only thing he thought he had was ripped away from him because the word no has other meanings.

Stop means maybe.

Boys don’t get raped.

* * *

 “Bro, party tonight,” his roommate said across the room one week later.

“I’ll pass,” he responded, staring at his laptop.

“C'mon man,” came the groan. “You scored last week, so now you have to go.”

He didn’t respond, just squeezing his eyes shut.

“Bro, don’t be a pussy.” His roommate stared at him from across the room. The judgmental look digging daggers into skin.

He exhaled. Just five minutes and then he can ditch his roommate and go home. Just stop the nagging. “Fine.”

The party looked, smelled, and felt the same, except for that chill at the end of his spine. He had already lost his roommate to the beer pong and was trying to head out; the smell of alcohol making him nauseous.

“Hey,” the shrill voice came.

He froze, chills running up his spine. The girl came bounding over to him, red solo cup in hand. The bitter taste of alcohol and the blurry images of being pulled into the room overcame him and couldn’t move.

“How about we go for round two,” she purred, face dangerously close to his, arms wrapped around him.

“No,” he whispered.

“Playing hard to get I see,” she laughed, tugging on his arm. “I want to show you something.”

“No,” he said more forcefully, tugging his arm out of her grasp.

“Baby, stop,” she sighed, almost glaring at him. “This isn’t fun anymore. Do I need to get you a drink to loosen up?” she asked, grabbing at his arm again.

Something snapped and his heart raced. He pushed her away. “I said no,” he said.

The girl stumbled on her tall heels and tripped, falling onto the ground and knocked over a picture frame. The glass shattered just like him on that night.

It was a nightmare come true. He felt the glares of everyone, watching the scene unfold as the girl screamed.

“Are you fucking serious?”

His eyes were wide and his fingers clenched. Someone thumped his shoulder and he flinched.

“Dude, not okay. We don’t roughhouse girls here,” the large boy said, anger slowly creeping onto his face.

He wanted to scream. He was the victim; he didn’t want this. He had said no. No means no.

But boys can’t be raped.

Shame coursed through his body and he ran out of the house. He wasn’t the predator. But he was.

He kept running and running down the street, another party going on in the house a couple houses down. He wondered if someone at that was the victim like he was. No one believing them, just a congratulation for having sex as if that was a great achievement.

He only stopped running once he reached the park, a great distance away from his dorm.

The moon shine bright, reflecting beautiful across the small lake.

It shone bright like when it shone brightly through the dark room as he weakly laid on the bed, staring at the window, asking why him?

He sat down on a nearby park bench and buried his head into his hands. What God had he angered to deserve this?

Boys don't get raped. But they do.

A soft touch to his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”

In front of him, stood a tall boy. He was pretty handsome to be honest: dark fringe, pale skin, thick eyebrows, and a nice jawline.

Junhui just stared up at him, blinking. The moonlight glowed around him, reflecting off that white shirt and light jeans. The man smiled down at him.

“Sorry for being creepy,” he said, sitting down on the bench next to him. “I saw you at that shitty party and you looked like you needed someone to listen to you.”

He reached over and placed a hand on his knee. Junhui’s knee-jerk reaction was too flinch away.

“Please don’t touch me,” he said, wrapping his arms around his torso, hugging himself.

The man’s eyes softened. “Sorry. I’m Wonwoo by the way.”

“Junhui.”

“I’m a first year and I study post-modern music,” Wonwoo said. “I play the guitar and my favorite foods are anything spicy, ramen, and pomegranates.”

Junhui stared blankly at the lake. He didn’t understand why this man was talking to him.

“Do you live in the dorms?” Wonwoo asked.

Junhui nodded.

“Well, we’re pretty far from them right now. I can give you a ride back,” he offered.

Junhui froze. Normally that offer would be accepted, but now, everything and everyone was a risk. Wonwoo’s soft brown eyes begged him to accept that offer, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Only if you don’t touch me,” came the soft whisper.

Soft music played in the background with the hum of the AC. Wonwoo had slipped on some reading glasses, explaining that his vision was a bit shitty, and he looked awfully handsome. Junhui had sat with his body twisted with the seatbelt so his back was facing the window, making sure Wonwoo was in his line of sight at all times.

When they had arrived at the dorms, Wonwoo turned to look at Junhui. “Look,” he spoke up. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I know that it was bad.”

Junhui’s heart started beating quickly.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’m always available for you to talk to. You’re not alone.”

Leaving Wonwoo with a timid smile, Junhui slipped out of the car and scurried into his dorm room, empty probably because his roommate had passed out drunk at the party. Even with Wonwoo’s words, he still felt like the only person in his world.

Boys aren’t raped.

* * *

 After the incident at the party, his roommate had been ignoring him. Going out often and disregarding his presence when they were in the room together. Junhui was actually thankful, despite the awkwardness. He wasn't going to be dragged out to parties anymore and the quiet life of studies and vocal practice was enough for him. He could change roommates next semester.

Squinting his eyes at the tiny print, Junhui typed out a line onto his business report. He hated that class, but going into the entertainment industry was just a dream. It was too harsh and unstable for a guaranteed income.

“Hey.” Someone placed a large coffee cup on the table and set their bag down on the table. Looking up, the familiar gentle face appeared.

“I saw you working and I wanted to talk to you,” Wonwoo said, sitting down in the chair next to him.

Junhui nodded slightly, and typed another line.

“So what’re you studying?”

Junhui didn’t know if he was annoyed or grateful for Wonwoo’s presence. “Double major in business and post-modern music,” he said softly.

“Post-modern music too? Are you going to the scouting meeting Friday?”

He nodded.

“Cool, we should meet up,” Wonwoo said happily.

“Yeah,” he whispered.

There was a pregnant pause.

“You know, it’s almost lunch time,” Wonwoo trailed off, staring at Junhui expectedly. Junhui just stared back. “Do you want to go eat with me?”

Junhui stared at his business report. He had worked on the first couple pages for a few hours now; he could afford to take a break. “Sure.”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes lit up with excitement. “Great. The cafe at the Union has the best pancakes.”

What Junhui wasn't expecting was the mass of boys surrounding one of the tables. There were about ten boys chatting loudly with boisterous laughs and aggressive hand movements.

“I thought we were eating alone,” Junhui whispered, fingers digging into his sleeves. The noise was deafening, bringing him back to the pounding loudness of the party.

“C’mon, Junhui,” Wonwoo said, smiling widely. “My friends don't bite. You'll be by my side at all times.” He turned to his friends, gesturing at Junhui. “Hey guys, this is Junhui. We met at Kwon’s party last week.”

“Kwon? That fuckboy? I heard someone got rough with that senior,” a boy said head locked in a tanned boy’s arm. “I don’t understand why you hang out with them. Those sketchy-ass guys who don’t understand the word no.”

Junhui flinched.

Boys don’t get raped.

Wonwoo didn't seem to get it, that Junhui was the guy who didn't understand what no means. He just laughed and smiled. “Kwon’s my little brother’s basketball coach. I have to be friendly with him.”

Junhui breathed in and out, trying to suppress the memories. Noise seemed to quieten as he felt like the only one on this world. The scrapbook of the horrible night, pages flipping, pictures flying past him one by one.

 _Click_. The pink top. _Click_. The red cup. _Click_. The white bedroom door. _Click_. The moonlight streaming through the window. _Click_. Darkness.

“Hey dude, you okay?” A shorter boy had jolted Junhui out of his nightmare, hand on his shoulder. The heavy Chinese accent had the comfort of home and safety, but the fingers, though gentle, felt like icicles piercing through his skin, leaving the cold feeling of shame. Like his wounds he tried to scrub away were reopened, his pride and feeling of peace were seeping away again. No one could be trusted.

He shrugged off the hand as bile rose in his throat. “I have to go,” he said, fingers grasping his backpack straps. “I’m sorry,” he whispered and turned around, walking quickly back to the dorms. His chest heaving and eyes stinging, Junhui ignored Wonwoo’s calls and rushed out of the Union.

He felt empty and worthless with shower beating hot water onto his naked back. Red patches forming onto his neck and arms from scrubbing too hard. Nothing could make him feel clean again.

Bile rose again in his throat and he hunched over, heaving. He wanted to cry, but no tears came out as if that girl had ripped out even his emotions, leaving behind an empty shell.

Boys don’t get raped.

* * *

 His dream of being the global idol that showed the world what China can offer seemed to be a farfetched idea. He could no longer handle the crowds; how close people brush up against him without a second thought. Gone was his soulful voice that sung the sweetest of songs that his mother hummed to him as a child when they walked around the park, only the throaty rasp that reminded him too much of that night.

He didn’t know exactly why he found his feet wandering to the scouting meeting. After the incident with Wonwoo’s friends, he found it too hard to interact with crowds, something essential to an idol’s lifestyle. It was probably best for him to drop his post-modern music, no longer enjoying his vocal sessions or dance practices or anything.

The professor stood in front of the room, lecturing on the skills needed for the upcoming scouting events: dancing, singing, charisma. Things that brought happiness to his life, but now they just wore him down. The endless droning became muddled and his tipped forward, eyes heavy from lack of sleep.

It had been hard for Junhui to sleep, moonlight streaming into their dorm caused a quickness to his heart. He couldn’t lay on his back and stare up at the ceiling without being brought back to the blurry night of swaying ceiling tiles as he tried desperately to get up. He wanted to cry, punch his pillow, but the sleeping form of his roommate always stopped him.

Boys don’t get raped.

They don’t lay awake at night wondering what if?

Loud chattering pulled him out of his daze and he looked up to see students gathering their stuff and leaving. He blinked once and slowly got up.

“Hey.” Wonwoo stood on the other side of his desk. Junhui hadn’t seen him since he ran out at lunch, probably embarrassing the hell out of Wonwoo. He didn’t blame Wonwoo. No one wanted to be friends with a predator. “I don’t know if you heard, but the professor is handing out an extra credit project. If we perform a full idol song, we get ten points onto our midterm.”

Junhui blinked. He must have fell asleep during that.

“He said we could do partners, so do you want to work together?” Wonwoo asked, extending his hand.

Junhui warily stared at the palm. If he dropped post-modern music, there would be no need for this partnership. No need for close contact with strangers and unwanted touch. Junhui had no need to say yes, but for some reason, he felt compelled to agree. As if the spark for performing was returning.

“Yes,” he whispered softly, slowly raising his hand to gently grasp the pale hand. Smooth palms brushed together, yet Junhui didn’t feel a spark of true fear rush through his spine. The wariness and distrust remained, but he wasn’t scared.

Wonwoo smiled widely. “I’m sorry for dragging you to my friends. I should have asked you if you were comfortable with that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No it wasn’t,” Wonwoo said firmly. “You were obviously uncomfortable with the situation.”

Junhui started walking to the front of the room as the next class slowly filtered into the large lecture hall. “No, it’s fine Wonwoo.”

Wonwoo sighed and followed Junhui. “Junhui,” he said. “I know you went through something shitty.”

Junhui froze.

“I don’t know what it is, but it was something shitty enough for you to change. I’ve been in that music lecture with you since the beginning of the year and something changed,” Wonwoo replied softly, softly placing his hand onto Junhui’s shoulder.

Fear consumed Junhui. It was a simple touch, but even something so simple can set off the bomb. “You don’t know anything about me,” he roared. “Nothing at all.” His chest constricted as he breathed heavily. “Leave me alone.” He couldn’t breathe, everything became overwhelming. He could only hear the rush of blood in his body. His chest heaved up and down and his eyes flitted back and forth. He felt like he was going to collapse, it was like the red solo cup again.

His vision blurred a bit and he felt himself tipping.

Strong arms caught him before he fell onto the pavement.

“Junhui, breathe,” Wonwoo said calmly.

His heart was beating out of control. He gripped Wonwoo’s shoulder tightly. “What’s happening? Please stop touching me. I don’t like it.”

“Calm down,” Wonwoo breathed into his ear, setting him down onto the ground and sitting next to him. “You’re having a panic attack. Just breathe.”

Junhui tried to breathe in and out, but his breaths were short and choppy. “Junhui, Junhui,” Wonwoo called. “Look at me.”

Junhui swallowed, a cold sweat forming on his brow. He forced his wandering eyes to stare into the deep, brown ones in front of him. They drew him in and his breathing started to slow down.

“That’s right. In and out,” Wonwoo said encouragingly. “Don’t stop. In and out, you’re doing great.”

It took a few minutes, but Junhui stopped hyperventilating, taking in deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo finally asked, once he was sure the panic attack had subsided. Sure, curiosity was burning inside of him, but the trauma Junhui went through was not pretty. Wellbeing over gossip.

Junhui swallowed again, saliva soothing the dry throat. “I think so,” he croaked, clenching his fingers and realized at some point, he had latched onto Wonwoo’s arm during his freak out. He shakily let go of Wonwoo’s arm, fingers sore from latching so tight onto the cotton shirt.

“Do you want me to take you to your dorms?” Wonwoo offered. Panic attacks took a lot out of a person.

His roommate came to Junhui’s mind. Just seeing him would probably set off another panic attack. The painful reminder that peer pressure was the thing that cause all of this. That no doesn’t always mean no.

That boys can’t be raped.

“Can we go to your dorms?” Junhui hoarsely whispered. He barely knew Wonwoo, but the presence of Wonwoo had calmed him through a terrifying panic attack and his wary-self had come to trust Wonwoo a bit more. “I don’t want to go back to my dorm.”

Wonwoo nodded and stood up, holding out a hand. Junhui stared at it and slowly took it. The warm grasp eliciting nothing, but warmth. No fear, no distrust, just warmth, as he pulled Junhui up to his feet.

“You know my offer still stands,” Wonwoo said as they headed to his car. “I’m always available for you to talk to if you ever need it.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

It's hard finding people to trust, especially after trauma. Someone taking everything, ripping out your innocence and security, and leaving the wounds to bleed out your soul, is absolutely scarring. It leaves behind wounds that seem to never feel; a scar that forever reminds you what happened. How you're no longer the same person anymore.

Junhui's bruises had faded after a week, the physical scar leaving his body, but not the emotional ones. His scars were when the music was turned up to loud, the smell of cheap alcohol, the moonlight reflecting through the window.

Scars that brought up memories.

Reminding him that he couldn't tell anyone because he was a boy.

And boys don't get raped.

That trust is a privilege, not a right.

It's disheartening to see the loss of trust because no doesn't always mean no. How there's a loss of hope for recovery, a new future, something to live for.

That's what Junhui thought. How could he live when dance and singing were burdens onto him? Life with a fear of loud noises resembling a partying crowd. There was no hope for anything better.

But that's what Wonwoo brought. Hope.

The patience and gentleness after he realized Junhui was damaged. But he didn't care. Damaged can always be repaired.

How this wasn't a project, Junhui was a living human being that deserved to trust the world again.

There were no prying questions, just a happy acceptance when Junhui was in a rut. Carding fingers through thick hair in an effort to comfort him after a tough day. Nothing said, just two boys enjoying the other’s presence.

It was a warm spring day when Junhui finally took Wonwoo’s initial offer.

It was finally warm enough to wear shorts, which both boys took advantage of. They both laid against the big oak tree in the courtyard. Other students surrounded them, throwing Frisbees, studying, or just hanging out. Junhui actually felt peaceful.

He scooted closer to Wonwoo, letting their thighs touch. “I want to take your offer,” he said quietly. “I want to tell you everything.”

Wonwoo looked at Junhui, smiling softly. “If you think you’re ready, then go ahead.”

Junhui cleared his throat, eyes nervously watching Wonwoo. The latter held out his hand, which Junhui gratefully took. Wonwoo tried to rarely initiate contact, letting the other decide whether or not he wanted someone touching him.

“At the beginning of the school year, my previous roommate convinced me to go to this party,” Junhui started off, voice already starting to sound a bit stuffy. “I was excited and went. And I met this girl,” Junhui’s voice cracked and Wonwoo squeezed his hand, softly stroking his thumb on the back of Junhui’s hand.

“You can stop whenever you want,” Wonwoo said.

Junhui shook his head, wanting to push through. “She was a senior and really wanted to sleep with me. I said no at first, so she got me drink that she probably spiked.” Junhui let out a watery laugh as his eyes started to sting. “Looking back at it now, I should have known better, but I wanted to look cool. So I drank it. I’ve never been drunk before, but I knew I was feeling too drunk for that one cup of alcohol.”

A hot tear escaped from his eye and trailed down his cheek. “She took me to get air, but it was really a bedroom. I couldn’t do anything when we got into the bed. I tried saying no and I even told her I was bi, but she brushed it off, and was being homophobic. And then everything went black.”

Wonwoo stared at Junhui. The only thing he could do was comfort him. Being the support Junhui needed to get over this ugly point in his life. Revenge would only further drag on the effects.

“I woke up and she left me her number, saying we should do it again. She left bruises everywhere and when I went back to the dorm, I took a shower. I scrubbed my skin so hard that it turned red. I felt dirty.” At this point, Junhui had a few more tears trailing down his cheeks, voice so broken, Wonwoo wanted to embrace the boy. “I went to the next party the week after because of my roommate. And everything just went downhill. She tried to get round two, but I pushed her away.”

Junhui leaned into Wonwoo’s chest, hand still tightly grasped into Wonwoo’s. “And when I laid on the bed, on the verge of passing out, I thought to myself, is this actually happening? As boys, we were never taught that consent was our right. It was always for the girls. People say boys can’t be raped. They aren’t raped.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo said softly, brushing the bangs out from Junhui’s eyes. “But they are Junhui. Boys get raped. They cry. They have emotions. Boys can do anything girls can do and vice versa. And recovery for both is hard as shit. So I’m so proud of you pushing through it. You’re so strong.”

Junhui laughed, looking up at Wonwoo, brushing their noses together. “You know what the only good thing that has come out of this shitty situation?”

“What?” Wonwoo asked, happiness bubbling up inside of him at the genuine smile gracing Junhui’s face.

“I got to meet you.” And he sat up to connect their lips.

Wonwoo sat there in shock when Junhui sat back and smiled.

“You gave me hope when I had none.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N just because you find a significant other as a rape/sexual assault victim doesn't mean you'll magically recover. this is just fiction, and even then, it took jun a good couple months for some recovery. so please don't think you can help someone get over something as traumatizing as non-consensual sex. it takes time and a lot of trust, where you need to listen and understand boundaries.  
> and if you're a rape/sexual assault victim, please don't keep it inside. i know it's a hard thing to go through, it's just going to eat you up on the inside; tell something you trust completely. it doesn't have to be a significant other, a friend or a family member that you completely trust that will understand trauma recovery takes time.  
> mental health will be disrupted, such as PTSD that will slow down recovery, but just know it takes time and trust  
> if you guys ever need to talk to someone, here's the national sexual assault hotline:1-800-656-4673  
> and if you ever want to talk to me, here's my [tumblr](http://minimumobsession.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
